


The Legacy of the 371st Dragoons

by cabooservb



Category: Senjou no Valkyria | Valkyria Chronicles
Genre: Original Character(s), Post-War, battles, multiple characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabooservb/pseuds/cabooservb
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the Second Europan War and the Gallian Civil War, the country faces a long road to rebuild and rearm for the next conflict. Newly appointed General of the Gallian Army Erich Van De Graeft faces the daunting task of rebuilding the Army he once knew. While reshaping the military, General Van De Graeft learns of the 371st through recovered reports and journals that make up the 371st’s lost story.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gallian Army Command, Randgriz
> 
> General Van De Graeft calls an immediate meeting of all senior commanders the following morning after a personal summons by the Archduchess Randgriz.

“He’s running late.” One of the Colonels commented as his gloved hand flicked to the next page of the newspaper. The front cover blared in massive, dark letters,

_11 GALLIAN OFFICERS FACE TREASON CHARGES IN TRIBUNAL._

The latest issues were strewn across the large, oaken table, the convening Gallian officers took the liberty to grab the latest issues that were presented as they awaited. The ashtrays were already half-filled, the conference room becoming hazy with the excessive chain smoking, the room filled with hushed whisperings and chatter. The room hosted twelve Colonels; all formation commanders of the Regular Gallian Army and the Militia Forces. The meeting was called in haste with the telegrams being sent out late last night with a few of the officers receiving it just this morning as they arrived in their respective offices. There was no significant context as to why the Commanding General convened this gathering, but the Colonels were speculative. Are the rumors of Darcsen integration efforts true? How are we to feed the latest wave refugees?

_‘Atten-HUT!’_

The thunderous sound of twelve boots stomping the floor at once halted all talk as the Colonels immediately raised from their seats. The door quickly slammed as the Commanding General entered to take his position at the head of the table.

‘Seats’ the General said

The Colonels transitioned from their stiff posture to reclaiming their cushioned chairs, a few snuffed out their last cigarettes out of courtesy for the Commander. Commanding General of the Gallian Army Erich Van de Graeft was the latest successor as the head of the Gallian Army after the Gallian Civil War . He posed as an intimidating figure to many who are not familiar with him. ‘Mad Man Van’ was of regular height and still possessed a healthy physique for a Gallian General, but was relatively young compared to his predecessors at 45 years; he was younger than some of the Colonels at the room by years and he knew it. General ‘Mad Man Van’ de Graeft earned his nickname well, a man of fiery temper that matched the intense color of his red hair and piercing green eyes.

Dropping his officer’s cap to the table his eyes darted about the room to make a personal headcount of the attendance of his leaders. The General was in his regular dress, he was of the few in the Gallian Army to have earned nearly all of the Gallian decorations that were proudly displayed on his chest with the exception of the Splintered Horn and the Medal of Honor. He was a tested combat leader both feared and respected by those he led before he took this position; not by his choice or ambition. The General longed to be back with his formations. His eyes were heavy, the bags underneath were clearly visible and dark, he had a slight hunch as he walked into the room; it was a long night for the General.

‘Gentlemen’ he began with his soft-spoken, gruff voice. His figure slowly worked to take his seat at the table head.

‘Yesterday. I received a letter from the Archduchess herself to have me summoned before her this morning.’

All the Colonels began to lean into the table to listen intently.

‘It clearly wasn’t a social call by far, nor some laudatory ceremony as I was called into her study at the palace. She asked me the simplest of questions.’

The General held a second pause, the silence of it deafened some of the Colonels thoughts.

‘What is the state of our Army? She asked. I had to reply to her highness that it is in a state of ruin and disrepair, but she knew the answer already. There is no hiding that after the Europan War and the Civil War.’

Several of the Colonels began to slowly lean back into their chairs as their thoughts began to recede into pessimism. Letting out a heavy sigh, the General leaned over the table to grab one of the papers closest to him.

‘Pages two, four and six, if you have not noticed already…’ dropping the paper before him and turning its second page.

‘Darcsen troops face harsh discrimination in the 499th, Gallian Army Battalion Commander sacked for laundering military funds through the ‘Ghost Battalion.’ For _fucks_ sake! I just signed his relief documents and now the whole country knows before the ink even dried!’ His palm slapping the table with enough force to jostle the ashtrays in frustration.

All of the Colonels flinched.

’Discrimination, corruption and sheer incompetence now damage our Army with more force than an Imperial tank division.’

Taking in a deep breath, he ran his hand over his face, his eyes almost getting dragged with his palm it seemed.

‘Gentlemen, I know that all of you are still dealing with the mess your predecessors left behind, myself included. But know that Her Highness pledges all her support to us and that her trust in us has not waned despite what the press continue to say. She has hand selected each of us for a reason. What you all have done to make your formations succeed must now be brought to the fore of rebuilding our country and our forces. There will be changes to both the way we fight and even how we lead, yes, Darcsens will be given positions of leadership and we will begin further integrating members of the Militia into our Regular Forces.

  
And yes. We will continue with the tribunal for misconduct in our ranks, the Civil War is over but there are still many who wish to undermine this country and what it stands for. I need not remind you that a good half of the seats here that were once occupied by your former superiors were among those who undermined Gallia. You all are genuine leaders to Gallia, Her Highness truly recognizes that your loyalties did not wane during the wars and your character, your skills and your love of country is why you are now in these seats. Not the money nor your connections to the remnants of our Court. I intend to bring back the Gallian Army that we all knew that can stand its own, but I need you all and your trust and support for this to be possible.’

The Colonels began to nod towards their General, a newer air of optimism just started to show in the conference room. The General attempted to breathe fresh air into the Colonels’ stressed souls. He was right, the Gallian Forces were in shambles and they all knew that they needed to rebuild, to relearn what was experienced during the wars. Years of decadent corruption and nepotism in the ranks did stagnate the military and it showed in the body count.

‘With that. That is all I wished to bring to you for this meeting.’ The General began to stand, grabbing his cap and swiping away its imagined dust.

Almost in unison, the Colonels rose with him, that harsh, unisoned stomp of their boots filled the room.

‘The tactics review board will be convening in the next hour, I will be there with you all as well. Colonel Ruyter?’

‘Sir.’ the reply came from the opposite end of the table.

‘See me after the board in my office. I wish to discuss your latest findings of our men in the Cavalier.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Carry on.’

The General turned towards the door and departed as quickly as he stormed in. The room returning to its quiet chatter amongst the Colonels and the flick of matches began as some officers relit their cigarettes.


	2. Erich

General de Graeft reclined in his chair a little as he held up the typed memorandum closer to his eyes. The afternoon sunlight beamed through the window from behind him which provided a great reading light. He had but only a few minutes to spare for himself after the Review Board, the second meeting in the morning took longer than planned as the Colonels discussed an after-action report regarding a skirmish of Gallian and Imperial Armor units. The Gallian Army had begun to review and study the reports of armored engagements throughout the past conflicts in an effort to develop a new doctrine; ‘Spearpoint’ as some of his Colonels dubbed it. 

His desk was in a perpetual state of mess. The General’s pen holder and reading lamp were the only distinguishable features in the sea of papers and folders. Beyond his door laid his General Staff, a crew of officers of various ranks working around the clock to manage the smaller affairs of an army, now and then his Adjutant would come in to present documents that required his signature and approval. De Graeft secretly loathed the position given to him by the Archduchess but he could not turn it away; officework was never his strong suit for he always left it to his Aides and Deputy.

A quick two knocks was heard on his door, his eyes darted from the memorandum to the window at his door. He spotted his Adjutant opening the door, the noise of muffled conversations and typewriters furiously clacking away became just a little louder. The Adjutant took a few steps in, allowing Colonel Ruyter to follow; his left hand holding a brown leather suitcase. 

De Graeft dropped the memo he was proofreading back into the sea of papers, he was bound to revisit it once his Adjutant reminded him of it for perhaps the third time. He leaned against his desk, arms resting atop of it.

‘Sir, Colonel Ruyter. Your calendar is cleared for the rest of the day at your request.’ the quick-lipped Adjutant added,

‘Thank you Major. I’ll..’ De Graeft’s eyes quickly scanned the surface of his desk in a searching mode, ‘I’ll be sure to return the orders to you before you leave today.’ his fingers deftly procuring a red folder from underneath the paper layer, placing it atop the other forms of now lower priority. How he hated staff work.

‘Yes sir.’ the Adjutant replied, giving his General a quick bow of his head before retreating from his office, the door shutting behind him, the noise of the office work now quieted to leave the two officers alone.

‘Take a seat, Michael.’ De Graeft offered as he gestured his hand to one of two cushioned chairs that were set before him.

Colonel Ruyter nodded and took upon his offer, the leather squeaking as he assumed his seat. Colonel Michael Ruyter stood a head taller than his other peers, a lanky person with thinly framed eyeglasses resting atop his nose. His golden blonde hair was kept neat with a part on the right side of his head, his hair seemed to have shimmered in the sunlight before him. Ruyter was among the newest wave of commanders personally selected by the Archduchess, along with General De Graeft. 

His collection of medals paled in comparison to his General, but spoke of his impressive tenure in the Gallian Army. Like De Graeft, he was also a combat tested leader from both Europan wars; a recipient of the Crimson Heart for wounds sustained while leading his former battalion in Naggiar against Imperial forces. Ruyter’s specialty was in mobile warfare, being one of the earliest advocates of its implementation right after the First Europan War.

“I’m sure you must have been screaming in your mind during the Board earlier, Mike.” De Graeft commented with a smirk.

The Colonel couldn’t help but scoff and laugh, shaking his head a little, “The Old Guards are still convinced that grandly drawn battle lines with trenches will stop the Imperial waves, sir. It’ll take.. time and some convincing for them to understand proper maneuver.”

The General could not help but crack the lightest of smiles, “We’ll see with them during The Maneuvers this year.” Leaning to the side of his desk, he reached for one of the bottom drawers, an audible  _ ‘click’  _ may be heard, an indicator that the compartment was under lock.

Picking up what appears to be a leathery binder with a label reading ‘SECRET’ in dark red lettering on the cover, he places it before himself and opening to the first page.

‘I did not have much chance to review much of this before now, but it is still strange the Federation is offering this so openly. Quite the olive branch.’ De Graeft commented as he started to go through some of the first few pages that he first reviewed.

‘Maybe one of many ways their military wants to atone for their support to the GRA, but regardless of their intentions, I’m expected to receive more from their intelligence service that will provide us invaluable data.’ Colonel Ruyter said, leaning down to fish out a small, battered booklet from his suitcase.

‘There’s more? What more could they have done?? I have literal land ships that decimated our divisions.. human super weapons that can destroy an entire fortress on _top_ of these snow-cruisers.’ De Graeft paused his idle page flipping to look back up to him in a slight degree of surprise. From De Graeft’s initial review of Colonel Ruyter’s findings, he was absolutely amazed at the Federation’s ability to create such a technological marvel on par with the Empire’s machinations. A fleet capable of traversing the harshest terrain in an effort to decisively strike against the head of a snake. His own assessment after reading of it was it was immensely ambitious, he was truly impressed at how they did indeed reach the very capital and provoked the ceasefire. 

‘That I don’t know sir, but I’m keen to see what all else they had for this operation. For now though, they’ve forwarded us the effects that were confirmed to have belonged to Gallians that served on the  _ Cavalier _ .’ Ruyter’s hand that held the booklet extended before him to place it onto the General’s desk.

‘I noticed that. Somewhere in your write-up when I first saw it. A good number of them were organized into a unit on that ship, have we their names?.’ General De Graeft spoke as he reached for the booklet laid before him. Gallians leaving to join the Federation forces was commonplace during the Second Europan War, many of them wishing to bring the fight to the Imperial forces for what they inflicted on their homeland during their invasion. 

‘Only from what we extracted from that journal. I had my staff run the transcription and they’re here.’ Ruyter said as he produced a packet that contained the journal entries that were legible.

De Graeft noticed the frail nature of the booklet as he picked it up, his thumbs slowly opening up to the first page. The journal had seen better days, its pages were crusted with water damage, the once stiff cover softened to the point where the wind could crumble it. The cursive writing on the back of the cover was still legible:

_ NOTEBOOK, FIELD ISSUE _

_ NAME: AMBROSE VON ROSEN _

_ RANK: ~~1st Lt~~ Capt GrpLhr _

_ UNIT: 371ST DGN Rg. (GALLIAN) _

_ ADDRESS: 23d Hennings Str. Albrechtzadt _


	3. Ambrose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mellvere, Principality of Gallia  
> July 8th, 1935
> 
> The 371st Dragoon Regiment rotated off the lines to refit and replenish after performing scouting missions and anti-patrol sweeps across various locations in the Midlands of Gallia. The Regiment was established in Mellvere with its mounted squadrons frequently sent out to accompany other units as support. Their strength is small in number with about 500 soldiers broken down into four squadrons. Squadron 1 of the 371st is on their third day of recovery. First Lieutenant Ambrose Von Rosen assumed command one month ago.

Staring quietly at his journal, Von Rosen scribbled his last remark of the day on it with his pencil before shutting it.

_ ‘Am I good enough?’ _

Just in time as he was bumped from behind as another officer seated behind him kicked his feet up on his table. A splash of coffee landed on the leather cover of his journal. Ambrose glanced over his shoulder but he rather not make a fuss of it; he was glad it didn’t stain his pages. Taking a palm he wiped the warm liquid off his journal before taking a brief sip from the porcelain cup before setting it back on the saucer.

Ambrose Von Rosen had a difficult time trying to find a peaceful spot, the city became one of the largest logistical hubs for the war effort in the southern parts of Gallia. The streets continuously crowded with trucks carrying any form of materiel for the war effort. Mellvere also became a popular location for units to send their soldiers back on passes and it became the established area for whole units to refit before rotating back out to the fronts. Von Rosen took refuge at a café, claiming a table for himself outside where he may watch the activities on the streets. He brought his personal journal along with his map case that still had operational scribbles on it from his last mission; he figured to pass some time studying his previous actions but the noisy activity of the cafe prevented him concentrating.

Dressed in his semi-formal attire that is required for any service member taking recreational leave, Von Rosen endeavored to ensure that no coffee stained the iconic Gallian Blue Dress Uniform painstakingly had to maintain to standard. Ambrose was of regular height with a head of bright, brown hair and obsidian eyes that made it near impossible to see the irises. A subtle mark of his ‘Von’ nobility, he had a neat part in his long brown hair set on the left side of his head, giving him an uppity appearance. He leaned toward the thinner side of body builds that gave him an advantage of quickly dismounting any tank or vehicle in the event of an emergency; a feature that likely saved him from a fiery death twice so far. The young officer was among the final pre-war wave of Lanseal graduates of 1934. He earned just above average marks in his classes but possessed two great potentials in armored combat and scouting. He immediately volunteered for the Dragoons upon graduating.

The accoutrements of his uniform spoke of his already-tenured career as a young, mounted officer. His left pauldron proudly displayed the ancient insignia of the Gallian Dragoons, a unicorn’s head set above two crossed rifles in a bright yellow background. The numbers ‘371’ set below the insignia indicating his regiment’s number. A strip of Gallian ribbons arranged in a neat row on his chest served as evidence of his combat involvement since the Invasion; the Crimson Heart and the Bronze Arms of Gallia. The Excellence in Leadership badge shone proudly as it was displayed on his breast pocket; a rare award for young officers to achieve.

_ ‘ATTENTION! ATTENTION!’ _

What seemed like a giant’s voice blared across the main square and across the crowded streets of Mellvere. The hustle of the city seemed to have died down in an instant, leaving nothing but the noise of vehicles still traveling along the cobbled roads. All the soldiers appeared to have paused as they looked up towards the nearest speaker. A PA system was established by the Gallian Military Police as a means to disseminate announcements efficiently across the city to include warnings of imminent attacks or notifying specific outfits that are known to be around the area.

Ambrose’s head quickly sprung to face the nearest speaker along with the others seated around him.

_ ‘EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY: ALL PASSES ARE NOW REVOKED. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO THEIR MUSTER POINTS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!’ _

The announcement repeated itself, it was met with a few disgruntled ‘boos’ and ‘comon!’ by some of the younger soldiers. The noise of hob-nailed boots clacked on the streets in a running rhythm as multitude of Gallian soldiers understood the urgency of such an announcement. Von Rosen among them, immediately stood up, looking around to see the atmosphere of the town become urgent and rushed. He noticed two soldiers dangerously hopping aboard a truck while it was still moving, two more soldiers dashed just before him, the flash of their yellow unit patches caught his eye. Soldiers were dashing to their assembly areas that were established throughout the town. In the event of any recall of any unit, soldiers that were about to go on leave in Mellvere were thoroughly briefed and were to familiarize themselves with their unit’s muster points to be picked up and brought to their encampments outside the city.

Ambrose took a parting sip of his coffee before hastily setting it down, scooping up his journal, map case and his garrison cap, his other hand fished through his pocket to produce a few coins to leave as a tip. Tossing the change on the table, he wasted no time leaving as he vaulted over the little rail and into the sidewalk. 

Dodging other soldiers and doing his best not to get smashed by the rearview mirror from a truck or a car going too close to the sidewalk, Von Rosen worked his way down the street that would lead to his unit’s mustering area. As he was about to turn the corner, the sudden, low-toned hum of a ragnite engine could be heard behind the street corner. Quickly coming into view on the street was a Lurcher Armored Fighting Vehicle.* Its wheels squealed to a halt as the driver’s head was poking through the hatch to ensure that there was no cross-traffic. The vehicle’s commander was perched atop the open turret, doing the same to look both ways before proceeding. The two soldiers that Von Rosen saw earlier were seated on the rear of the Lurcher, they all quickly noticed Von Rosen down the street.

“Sir! There you are! Come on!” the whole crew on the Lurcher frantically waved at Ambrose to come aboard.

Going into a fast sprint, he planted his foot atop the middle tire and stepped up to the side of the armored car, the commander of the Lurcher shifting himself aside to make room for Von Rosen to drop into the turret. The vehicle revved as it made its turn, the ragnite engine humming louder as it picked up speed.

“Hey! I just got him! We’re heading to camp now, sir!” the commander yelled into his hand mic,

“What’s happening?” Ambrose asked as he shifted himself to sit on the loader’s stool, completely forgetting that his uniform was being smudged by the dusty interior of the Lurcher’s turret.

“Elements of the 103rd Panzer Division are breaking through north of the Kloden Forest, sir! That’s why everyone’s running back to--”

The screech of tires interrupted the vehicle commander as the passengers on the Lurcher rocked off to one side as the driver swerved to avoid a truck trundling in the opposite lane of the road they were on. The passengers riding on the rear clung to dear life on the handrails of the turret to avoid being tossed onto the street. The driver’s expletives were muffled by the noise of the many truck engines on the road, but the final portion of his curse ‘-- _ you fuck!’ _ could be made out. The Lurcher began to weave side to side at a gentler speed to push through the now congested road.

A face of incredulity was written on the vehicle commander’s face as he stood up in his turret to shoot the passing driver a deathly glare. The other passengers demonstrated their middle finger at the soldier as they passed him. Hunching back down the meet Von Rosen’s face,

“Regiment’s already rolling now, sir. Colonel already broken down his headquarters.” the commander resumed.

“So much for recovery!” one of the soldiers commented,

Von Rosen could only nod in acknowledgement as he leaned back against the wall of the turret, his hand slipping out his map case to examine it. Taking a hand, he ran his palm across the acetate surface to remove his old markings.

  
  


*****

The Dragoon Encampment was already half-way to being disassembled. The noise of the ragnite engines nearly drowned out regular conversation as dozens of APCs, trucks and smaller staff cars scrambled and lined up in a convoy. The Regiment Commander, Colonel Marberg and much of his headquarters squadron who were present had already departed the area. The Regiment Sergeant Major remained behind to see to the quick breakdown of the camp and bringing up the last elements of the Dragoons, his orders could still just be made out over the noises of the camp. As Von Rosen shedded his splotched dress uniform to don his regular fatigues, he finally received his written orders signed with the flourished signature of his commander:

_ TO: ALL SQN CDRS _

_ URGENT ORDER TO BREAK CAMP, CROSS VASEL RIVER, MOVE WITH ALL POSSIBLE SPEED EAST ALONG RTE 15. MONITOR CURRENT RGT NET FOR FURTHER ORDERS. - COL M. _

The majority of the gathered senior leaders in the camp belonged to Squadron 1, the chaos of the recall in Mellvere delayed the arrival of the rest of the leadership of the 731st. Lieutenants Von Rosen, Rosswell, Elliot and Brandt from Squadron 2 were all the officers that were able to return to camp within the hour. Many other Soldiers were still trickling back into the Regiment Camp.

“We got 83 out of the 120 men accounted for now, sir with more to come back.” Rosswell said with a pant as he joined the gathered officers by Von Rosen’s Lurcher.

“My Weapons Platoon is all here. 30.” Brandt added,

“How are we on ammo?” Von Rosen asked,

“Bad. We were supposed to expect our munitions tomorrow, but that won’t be the case.” Rosswell replied,

“Our vehicles?”

“All ready, sir. Some empty seats, but we can get them to move.”

The movement order rudely interrupted the original plans of recovery and replenishment, the stocks of munitions for the Dragoons was severely depleted after their latest missions. The Squadrons would be moving with barely enough for a single combat encounter.

“Maps.” Von Rosen ordered,

In near-choreographed unison, all the officers produced their map cases and laid them on the sloped hull of Von Rosen’s Lurcher.

“Squadron 1 will cross the Vasel here and will travel on Route 15 east. Recon will take lead, followed by Motors 1 and 2, then Weapons. Brandt, you bring the rear. Sergeant Major will see to the rest of our men still getting back here, but we need to move with who is here now. Questions?” Ambrose’s dark eyes darted around his subordinate leaders, waiting for anything.

“Are we expecting combat?” Brandt asked, his eyes tracing the route on his map case,

“I don’t know. The orders weren’t detailed, Colonel just wants the Regiment moving east. The route will take us to Brunhof if we stay on it, not sure how far the Imps have broken through but I believe the Colonel will see it first and let us know. We’ll likely get more information once we get moving, more orders will come on the regiment's net, so keep your ears out for a transmission as we get closer to the Wildwood.” Brandt nodded at the answer, a look of concern still on his face as he stared at his map.

Von Rosen flicked his left arm to expose the watch on his wrist to see the time, “Time is now 1350. Mark your maps if you haven’t already. Consolidate what ammo we have. We roll in 10.”

With his final order, the officers checked their own watches to synchronize it with Von Rosen’s, they immediately dispersed to relay the latest orders to their respective formations. A chain of huddles and map reviews could be seen along the serpentine line of assembled vehicles. With what little time was had, the Gallian Dragoons scrambled with what munitions they had left, soldiers passing along bandoliers of magazines and snatching what grenades, shells and clips that the remainder of the Regiment still behind may not need. The minute hand was one away from striking the new hour, Von Rosen climbed aboard his Lurcher that was set with the Recon Platoon, donning his radio set and adjusting the throat microphone, he looked forward and behind to see the last few of the rapidly assembled dragoons climbing aboard the convoy. 

“All stations. Comms check.” Von Rosen ordered through the net,

“Recon Lead. Good Comms.”

“Motors 1. Good Comms.”

“Motors 2. Good Comms.”

“Weapons. Good Comms.”

“Weapons. Squadron 2. Good Comms.”

No response came from the Headquarters Squadron yet. They may be out of range by now if they left that soon. Taking in a deep breath, his hand gripped the rail atop of his turret.

  
“Squadron 1.  _ Move out!”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Lurcher is based off the American M8 Greyhound Armored Car.


End file.
